


Sheets of Night

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-19
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2196915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros has an unexpected encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to weavinghugo for the beta job, Any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> 'Sheets of night hiding us' is a line from 'Black Acres' by Elysian Fields.
> 
> I realise that if Tolkien never said a word about Maedhros's presence at the rescue of the Haladin it is very probable that he was not there... but not impossible. If the idea shocks you too much consider this completely AU and just skip the reading. And if the plot sounds too silly, well it came from Morrissey's 'Suedhead' and that says it all. :P 
> 
> fanfic100 prompt 085: She.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**South Thargelion, 422 First Age**

Rain, rain, rain. Mud. Clatter. Maedhros lay in his tiny bunk, in his tiny tent, trying to lock out the sounds of the camp. On days like these he would give his right hand to be back in Valinor, that is if he still had a right hand. But no, some things were irretrievable. He raised his wrist, contemplating the devastation, the scars, and let it drop, as if it were some dead belonging of another.

He sighed. Even under this weather there were always people moving around, laughing, dropping things. He made a mental prayer for harder rain, thicker mud and maybe even some lightning: maybe that would finally dissuade them from their activities. But as all of his prayers it was promptly answered with the opposite of his wishes. Very soon the rain slowed its pattering above his head, and the tent became unbearably hot and humid under the sun. Well, at least it was a change, even if it meant more raucous noise outside.

He should be up north in Himring, home, if it could be called that, instead of submitting his men to this nonsense, but every so often he felt he had the duty to keep an eye on his brothers, despite the tension that had grown between them. As a consequence, here he was on one of Caranthir's wild goose chases. He should have returned before spring came. Now the Gelion would be too dangerous to cross, at least until summer. Feeling miserable, he turned in the creaking bunk and buried his face in his pillow.

He had started to doze off when a well-known voice called to him from outside, "Nelyo, come!" Thinking it was probably yet another one of Caranthir's false alarms, he lay still, trying to ignore it. They had been chasing this same imaginary troop of Orcs for the last three months. If there were any they surely would have been caught by now, the stupid, foul creatures, but no. Every sighting, every track led to nothing. Still Caranthir persisted. Maybe the hunter in him refused to be defeated by such unworthy prey... surely his brother could not be that bored. But why should Maedhros have indulged him for so long was a mystery. Maybe he was bored too.

From outside Caranthir insisted, "Nelyo, come. This time we have a reliable sighting from the scouts and there seems to be some kind of trouble going on."

"If you say so," he muttered under his breath, making a conscious effort to rise from the bed and put on his light armour. He picked his sword and took it halfway out of its sheet. Bloody thing. He should be home and home was definitely not Thargelion or anywhere on this continent. Shutting out the vision of his mother's house with its perfect silence and wide, sunny windows, he opened the flaps of the tent only to find the outside world as chaotic and muddy as he expected it to be. With a sigh, he located his squire in the crowd, advancing toward him with his horse by the reins. It had been a mistake to bring the boy. Everything about this trip had been a mistake.

"Our men are ready?" he asked the boy wearily.

"Yes, my lord. They await your orders." The boy bowed and ran back to join his host on the far left of the encampment.

They rode off in Caranthir's trail. According to the scouts, the Orc trails were but a day's distance. As he was more fully briefed on the news, Maedhros started feeling concerned for the boy. These were much more reliable reports than any of the previous. He made a mental prayer for nothing worse than a very quick scuffle. Maybe a few blood spatters on his face and none on his hands would be enough to quench Nivórimo's fascination with war.

Of course this would not be so. The shadows were growing long when they first saw them, a mass of filthy, hollering Orcs attacking a group of people that looked like Edain. Maedhros made some accounting: a proportion of two Orcs to one Elf. He had faced far worse than this and regretted that they would not provide some excitement for his men after such a long hunt, but the boy was there and the sun was setting, so it was actually a good thing. Caranthir gave the order and they started galloping towards the fight. Maedhros lead his warriors to the left flank, ordering Nivórimo to stay back.

The fight was swift. The unexpected Elven appearance confused and terrified the Orcs. The men upon seeing their rescuers became fiercer in their fighting, their hope renewed. Maedhros and his host stayed away from the core of the fight, hunting down any Orcs who tried to escape and so the slaying was nearly finished when he caught up with his brother.

The soldiers had regrouped; apart from a few scratches and a couple of nasty cuts, his warriors were fine and apparently his brother's too. When he neared the Edain, however, he was shocked. They looked famished, sick, too few, too young, and there were far too many women for the men. It was clear they had been through very rough times. The people took care of each other and of their dead in silence, only broken by an occasional sob.

Maedhros trailed slowly towards his brother. He was talking to a short, dark-haired woman. Her voice carried sadly in the wind, a murmur of devastation in a hesitant, strongly accented Sindarin.

"...my father, Haldad, my brother, Haldar, both died seven days ago. We have been under attack, all the villages, and we have been trying to find the Orcs, but to no avail. My father thought that they were coming from the Dwarf Road so he gathered us all and led us to the joining of the rivers where we would have our backs protected. He went out trying to keep them away from us, but they slew him. My brother tried to recover his body. He was slain too. They... they sent us their-" At this point the woman paused and closed her eyes, turning her face from Caranthir. "They sent us their heads," she finished in a surprisingly clear voice.

She continued, "We were despairing under siege, running out of food, and every day they were closer upon us until today. They broke through our barricades and we have been trying to hold on as best we can. I cannot imagine what would have happened had you not come."

Maedhros saw his brother gently placing his hand on the woman's shoulder in a rare display of regard for another. He approached them with a silent question in his eyes. Caranthir called, "Come, brother, meet this people's leader, Haleth daughter of Haldad."

"My brother, Maedhros," he added to Haleth.

Maedhros bowed his head courteously, but when he raised his eyes to meet Haleth's a jolt coursed through him. There was nothing remarkable about her but those eyes, grey and deep, like the sea the day they had sailed. He made an effort to look away, to his brother.

"I have sent for more men and supplies to feed us all," Caranthir told him. "They should be here by tomorrow. My men are already preparing a place for us to spend the night behind that last hill. It should be safe enough and we cannot travel like this."

Maedhros nodded and Caranthir added to Haleth, "I am glad we came in time to aid such a valorous people. You have fought bravely."

Haleth remained silent, her lips pressing into a thin line. Maedhros sensed she was not entirely pleased and the thought intrigued him.

Night fell and they waited patiently for the reinforcements and the food. The brief spilling of blood had been enough to drag Maedhros to a dark state of mind. Musing on the course his life had taken over one misguided moment, he drifted closer to the centre of the encampment. A large fire burnt and many sat around it, both Elves and Men. Even complemented with a few pieces of game from the woods, the few supplies they had were barely enough for everyone.

Maedhros saw his brother with the woman, Haleth, and a few others. He approached them carefully. Caranthir had been in a mellow mood while the chase had lasted but now Maedhros feared that he would return to his usual sarcasm and he was too tired to endure it for long.

"Nelyo, join us for dinner," Caranthir pleaded. Apparently his good spirits had not left him yet.

Maedhros approached and sat on a rock.

"Haleth was telling me of their plans. I invited them to stay with us, farther to the north." Maedhros smiled in a mix of amusement and satisfaction at the thought that Caranthir had found a new toy to keep him busy, but then he noticed once more that thin line forming on Haleth's mouth.

"I thank you very much for the aid you have offered us, but as I said we must ponder this before making any rash decisions," Haleth retorted.

Polite but uncompromising, Maedhros thought. The woman might just prove to be a worthy adversary to Caranthir. Almost against his will, he stared at her. She held his gaze with an indefinable expression.

Caranthir brushed her reserve swiftly. "Why do you not spend the summer with us? This will give you some time to recover and think this over and then you can do as you please."

Haleth nodded, looking unconvinced. "Thank you, my Lord Caranthir. We will discuss your kind offer amongst ourselves."

Maedhros found himself amused. They had nothing to eat, many of their possessions had been burnt and apparently there was no defined plan of action, but they had no lack of pride or caution towards strangers.

Trying to avoid Caranthir a moment of painful embarrassment he asked, "May I enquire where you learned of our tongue?"

To this an older man sitting by Haleth's side replied, "It was with one of your kind, Finrod Felagund. We met him while we were crossing the Blue Mountains and he stayed with us for a while."

Finrod. Now there was one he had not heard of for long. He glanced at Caranthir but his brother showed no visible reaction to his cousin's mention. Good, he was tired of hate and resentment.

Deciding he had had enough awkwardness for one day, he retired to his men, bidding his brother, Haleth and the others goodnight.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day started with the preparations for the funerary rites. The Elves gathered the Orc corpses for burning, away from the place chosen for the burial of the fallen, while the Edain prepared the bodies of their dead. In the afternoon all that was left to do was to say a few words. During the ceremonies the Edain kept a dignified silence, holding each other for comfort.

They spent one last night in the gruesome camp and started their journey to Caranthir's camp by mid-morning, the following day. The pace was slow, for most of the Edain had lost their horses and the few left were reserved for the wounded. In the mid-afternoon a spring shower started falling, relenting only when it had drenched them to their bones. The mud retarded their pace even further and so they arrived very late in the night, but Caranthir had sent word ahead and everything was ready to receive them. The Edain were lead to their resting places and fed and all were finally allowed to finish the long day. Even Maedhros was glad to be back inside his tent, for a change.

The next morning Caranthir was early at Maedhros's tent. "Brother, may I come in?" Without waiting for an answer, he entered, finding Maedhros still in bed.

"So, what do you think of the Edain?" he asked enthusiastically.

Maedhros groaned. It was too early to have this conversation, but Caranthir's impatient finger drumming on his table forced him to answer. "What is it you find so special about them, Moryo?" he asked in a notoriously apathetic tone.

Caranthir huffed at his lack of interest. "Do you not see, Nelyo? They are like us. They do not want any rulers. They will not follow blindly-"

"Stop it Moryo!" Maedhros jumped out of bed, now clearly irritated. "They are nothing like us. They only slay Orcs, did you notice?" he added with ill-concealed sarcasm. His brother had learned nothing from the past and still hung to the thought that what they had done was heroic and intelligent.

"Oh, I was wondering where the noble, repentant martyr had gone, Nelyo. I really thought that you had finally come to your senses, but I see that you are still mopping around, thinking on what could have been." Caranthir had pulled one flap open and prepared to leave.

"Moryo... I may have relinquished the title of High King, but I am still the head of this family and I would like you to remember that." Maedhros had tried for a conciliatory tone, despite his words, but Caranthir ignore him. He left the tent, closing the flap violently.

Maedhros sunk back in bed. 'Nothing like a good confrontation to start the day,' he thought ironically.

Later on, he found his brother speaking with Haleth and a few other Edain. He came closer, knowing that not even his brother would make a scene in front of strangers.

"We have few men to defend our people now. We must all learn to fight," he heard Haleth saying. "So we would take your offer of shelter for this summer only, while we recover our strength and prepare for the voyage, that is, if you are still willing to concede your hospitality under these circumstances," she continued, turning her gaze to him as he approached.

Maedhros felt his heart racing. That would not do, feeling this interest in a tiny, dirty second born. She turned her eyes to Caranthir, leaving him empty.

"As I said, you are welcome to stay with us for as long as you please," Caranthir replied. It was clear that he thought he could sway them into staying for much longer, under the charms of his hospitality, but Maedhros saw the firm gleam in the woman's eyes.

"We truly appreciate it." She returned her eyes to Maedhros. In that moment he could have sworn she felt the same pull towards him. He refused to be engaged in these things again. He was too old, knew better.

"If you will excuse me, I must check on my men," he said, retiring from their sights without worrying too much about civility.

Later Caranthir called Maedhros, behaving as if nothing had passed. "I was thinking that we should stay here for a few more days. This camp can be easily changed to accommodate them and travelling any further at this point with so many wounded and malnourished would hardly be wise."

"Yes," Maedhros assented cautiously.

"But we will need more food, and a few more men to better guard the perimeter and some weapons for these people." 

Maedhros contained a smile: his brother needed a favour, hence the calm manner. "True," he replied, waiting for Caranthir to speak his mind.

"This is something that would require my presence to be properly done. Would you mind taking over here, for a week or so? I think it will be enough to bring everything we need to spend the summer here."

Maedhros frowned: Caranthir was building a summer camp for his new toy. He only hoped that his brother's interest in the Edain faded soon for it was clear that Haleth would not bend easily, if at all. 

Caranthir departed the next day, leaving Maedhros with the task of running the camp. It did not take too much of his time since everyone knew what to do. That same day Haleth came to him. He had wandered off to the stream after lunch and sat under a tree, resting. It was not that he had worked much, but the oppressive humidity combined with the low, glaring sky made him feel drowsy. Up north the skies were always clear.

"Lord Maedhros," she called.

He wanted to ignore her but that would be impossible. "Yes?" he asked, rising to his feet.

"We are planning to start training the women and the children in warfare and I was wondering if your warriors would mind lending us some weapons as we do not have enough, even if we take turns." The woman seemed uneasy. He had already seen how proud and independent she was. Certainly it was not easy for her to ask for more than what she already had been granted. He had also noticed that the Haladin buried their dead with their weapons and had thought it was a shame and a waste but nothing could be done now.

"I think I have a better idea. My men are restless from a whole winter with nothing to do and they could help your warriors in this task, as well as lend the weapons you may need." He was not sure his justification would sway her but he had tried.

She stood regarding him pensively and finally accepted. "Yes, that could be a good idea. Thank you."

She left him wondering about the way she had stared at him during the whole conversation, and the way he had wanted to come closer and touch her.

Later that afternoon he gathered his captains and some of the Edain to plan the training. He was informed that some of the women and the older children already had some skills informally acquired. They decided to start the next day by determining the particular abilities of each and then forming groups according to their specific needs.

The next day, the morning went by slowly. The Edain women and children took their training seriously but there was much to learn. Maedhros was impressed with Haleth's abilities but thoughts of wrestling with her and having her pinned under his body distracted him from the other women and children against his will. Annoyed, he left the field and returned to his tent until lunchtime. This would not do, he would only end up only embarrassing himself.

On the afternoon they made a survey of the riding skills. Most of the Haladin were good riders, but Maedhros thought it was important to show the advantages of a good cavalry to both men and women. And then came Haleth again. She mounted with elegant, experienced movements and performed all the requested movements. Maedhros closed his eyes, but he could still see her hips moving rhythmically, in tandem with the horse, conjuring thoughts of other rides. This would not do. Once more he rose and left, feeling as one who flees from the battlefield. He regretted now having taken the responsibility of accompanying the more advanced class for it was obvious that the woman would be part of it.

He found his tree, rested his back against the trunk, his mind still swirling. Absurd, this obsession with a woman he barely knew, a woman who was far from being the epitome of beauty, who only had to her benefit her steel will and those eyes. Slapping the bark, he willed himself to move and return to the others. 

Haleth had finished her exercise and came to him, flushed, looking almost happy. "Would you say there is hope for us, Lord Maedhros?" she asked with an impish grin.

"You show promise," he conceded gravely. He by far preferred the sullen woman he had first met. Teasing was much more than he wished to handle.

"My, such a great compliment! I may just faint with emotion," she said with a short laugh.

Maedhros could not help a smile at her teasing. He found it amazing how she had the strength to laugh so soon, but that was probably the same source that had carried her through the siege and the attack. 

The next days followed in the same fashion. Haleth's people still mourned, the songs by the fireside were laments, but during the day they let themselves be absorbed by their activities and found joy in them. Haleth was everywhere, encouraging, praising, helping, consoling, and training with the rest. Often she would approach him with some light remark, other times serious, with the intent of resolving some issue. When she left, he could not decide what to think: was she friendly or was her interest deeper?

He chided himself when he found himself standing taller by her side her, engaging in audacious demonstrations in the field, smiling wider and trying for wit... He could not deny it, though: he wanted her regard on him. 

Likewise, he felt her gaze searching his, her smile beckoning to him and he started to despair for Caranthir's return. He could not keep to his stern manner anymore and no moment of his day was rid of her. It was complete obsession. Desire was no stranger to him, he have lived long, but this... His first thoughts on waking up were about moving insider her, groaning in her ear, biting her flesh, crushing her lips, coming inside her, his face buried in her hair. His last thoughts of the day were mere variations on the same theme. 'If his hand was not callused from handling his sword, it would be now,' he mused cringing at the bad pun that had popped into his mind unwanted.

One night, he decided to banish these images once and for all. He searched through his belongings to quickly find the journal his mother had given him. It opened on the last page he had filled, long ago. Alqualondë. He closed it abruptly, feeling the urge to throw it into a fire, but refrained, bringing it to his nose instead. The familiar scent of leather and parchment brought back memories of his mother, of Valinor and a long lost past. She had handed it to him with her customary warm smile shortly before their fate had unfolded and had said with a wink, "Here, to keep track of the hearts you break."

They were standing on her balcony and he turned away, feeling the familiar tinge reaching his cheeks. He hated these betrayals of his skin. "Mother, you embarrass me," he had finally said.

She had laughed. "Dear boy, I am sure you have much to write there. Make no mistake, of all my children you are undoubtedly the handsomest. You should not be ashamed of that."

He had not replied. Celegorm was the fair one, everybody knew that, but there was no point in contradicting Nerdanel, at least not on this.

He had always wondered why she had given it to him. He was no writer, that was more of Maglor's inclination, but he had kept the leather bound journal as a treasure, a souvenir of his best days, and of his worst. His mother had been right, there had been many looking his way, but he had only used the journal once and what he had drawn there in black ink was the beginning of their downfall.

How that seemed so distant. His mother's house was always filled with sun and vases with semi-wild flowers and billowing curtains, pregnant with the salty air from the south. It was always this image of tranquillity and beauty that he conjured when he needed to break from his worries. But this day Haleth's face came forth instead. He sighed. He needed good drawing charcoal, his hand was not ready for ink. Fortunately Caranthir had left some in his tent a few days back with some schemes for his new dream. 

He opened the journal and stared at the blank page. He was not sure he would be able to produce a decent drawing, not with his left hand, but if he had learned to write once more maybe he could draw enough to clear his mind.

After a few tentative traces a form started to emerge. It was not as bad as he thought it would be, but it was hardly a worthy work. He continued, in hesitant strokes and the bared back of a woman appeared. Hair curled down her back and her arm, lifted to her head, let the beginning of the curve of the breast show. He cast a few shadows here and there, drew a rumpled sheet around her hips. His hand was hurting from the tension and still the trace was hesitant and the smudging messy, like a beginner's.

He sighed. Nothing could be more conventional and uninspiring. He hesitated for a second but then just let his hand run free. Perfection was not the point of this exercise, Haleth was, and there she was, facing him, naked sitting on her heels. He was behind her, his left hand across her breasts, cupping one, his right hand disappearing between her legs, covered by her own. For an instant he was surprised at himself for having drawn it, but it felt right, it should be there.

Maedhros lowered his eyes; his hand grazed the bulge on his lap, but he decided to save that pleasure for later. Now he had another vision to commit to the vellum.

Haleth was there again, larger this time, closer. Her face, nested on his shoulder, was framed by their hair. Her arms were loosely wrapped around him, as were her legs. He could almost see her moving slowly over him, those immense eyes never closing. He longed to discover what her hair smelled like.

He closed the journal abruptly. The drawings would probably be smeared but that was enough, he had done what he intended to and now he was going to sleep, and be over with this.

Stripping quickly, he tried to ignore his bobbing erection, but there was no use, it would not simply fade, not when those images still ran freely through his head. His right arm moved in the remembrance of a gesture he had not done in a long time but he stopped himself, feeling incomplete and maimed. Damned woman, making him want what was gone. He put on his night shirt and fell on the bunk. Sleep would not come, not at any price. His brilliant idea, far from fulfilling its purpose, had only been a way to further ignite his obsession.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning found Maedhros ill-rested. Thankfully, Caranthir arrived near noon, providing enough distraction. He spent the rest of the day with his brother, welcoming his companionship for a change. Caranthir was delighted at hearing of the news of their activities and wanted to see all. There was no possible avoidance, but when night came Maedhros retired early. He sat on the bed looking at the pillow, under which he had hidden the journal. Deciding he should restore it to the depths of his bag, he reached for it. Surely one last glance would not hurt.

And then he knew he needed more. He reached for the charcoal and there she was, lying on her side, her face nested on the crook of his arm. He was enveloping her in his arms, his knee showing between hers. She slept peacefully. There was nothing terribly sensual about the drawing, just a feeling of intimacy. It made him think of home.

Another sketch followed, of a very different nature. He lay over her and her hands were pinned under his, over her head. Her legs were wrapped around his waist and her body arched under him. They were both tense, reaching culmination. Reclining on the bunk, he closed his eyes. He only hoped he would not commit an irretrievable mistake. He let the journal fall to the ground, his hand wandering in need, and let his dreams carry him to sleep.

At first, those few interludes were enough, but soon Maedhros realized he was addicted to the journal. He found refuge there, when he could not avoid his need for her anymore. He slipped to his tent in the middle of the day to gaze at the sketches, for a moment of lonely pleasure. He retired early every night. It was better than gawking at her, thinking on how the firelight enhanced her beauty, asking himself when had she become beautiful to his eyes.

He felt he was becoming careless, but still could not bring himself to relinquish the journal. As the weather warmed he had, on more than one occasion, taken it with him, outside the tent, for his usual after-lunch nap in a copse away from the camp where none ever followed him. Only that now he was far from napping, he just turned the pages compulsively, in a battle for control over himself that he knew in anticipation he would lose.

Summer was coming and they should soon head home. His men were restless, but everyday he postponed it, claiming it was too soon to cross the river, that his brother needed help with the Haladin, that they should stay at least until midsummer. His brother for once had his gratitude: he had gladly taken over his duties thus reducing his time with the Haladin. Why, then would he keep procuring their company? Maedhros knew his position was unsustainable.

It was a late spring afternoon when shouts from the riverbank roused him from his slumber in the copse. He ran down to the river and followed the shouts, until he found their source. Two boys were in the water, dangerously near a whirlpool, the elder trying to safe the younger but nearly downing himself. As Maedhros jumped into the water, he saw in the corner of his eye that a man had followed him. They both managed to drag the boys back to the riverbank, in which a mixed group awaited them.

His first instinct was to check if the boys were unharmed. Their mothers and a small crowd had gathered hearing the boys' tale, and as relief washed over him, Maedhros looked around. Some of the Edain were already heading for the camp. Haleth stood apart watching, her hands behind her back, a stern look in her face. He had not seen that look since the first days of their acquaintance.

Another wave of gratitude from the mother of the boy he had rescued distracted him and when he looked at Haleth again, she had turned her back to him. She held in her hands the journal that he had so carelessly abandoned in the thicket. She walked up the hill, into the trees without a single glance back. He followed her, clinging to the faint hope that she had not opened it, explanations, lies, and excuses running through his head wilder than the stream.

When he caught up with her, he tried softly, uncertain and hopeful. "I believe that belongs to me. Thank you for keeping it while I was away."

"In a way it belongs to me too, or am I wrong?" Seldom had Maedhros heard a question laden with such certainty of the answer, but he had never been one to wait quietly for a blow.

"I am not sure what you mean - that is a private journal."

"If it is private you should take better care of it. It was lying open on the ground." Haleth showed her fire.

"That was an accident and anyway no one ever follows me here. Besides having found it does not give you any claim over it and I would like it back." Maedhros was starting to despair, but at the last moment he added a soft, "Please".

Haleth stood silently, her eyes hard upon Maedhros, her lips in a solemn line. She held the journal out. "Finding it was not my reason for claiming it."

Maedhros held his breath.

"I am the woman in those drawings, am I not?" she asked neutrally.

He stood silent under her scrutiny, unsure on how to react. He had never met a woman so frank. Elven maidens played games, he had to take the first step, always, and even then certain things could never be voiced.

"You see," she continued, "I know the sketches are very recent because I have seen you drawing here on occasion when I walk alone. Besides, this is charcoal and it has already begun to smear and fade in some places. And the ink drawings of the battle are much better, so I would assume that you made them with your right hand."

Why, of all people he would have to take an interest in her? Harder than steel, she would not let him simply wriggle his way out. He could already hear his brother in his righteous indignation accusing him of trying to corrupt this fair people. He almost smiled at the thought, inconvenient as it was to be the centre of a diplomatic incident.

"Of course you could say she is some Elven lady you met recently, but her ears are not quite pointy, are they?" Haleth sounded almost triumphant and carried on in face of his silence. "And here in the camp there is no other woman you avoid so fiercely and yet stare at so often as me."

He held out his hand to take the journal. There was no point in denying, although the bad quality of his work gave him room for that. There was only one thing to say.

"I am sorry. I know you will not believe it, how could you, but this is not... This was never meant to be disrespectful of you and it was never meant to be seen by any eyes other than mine."

He lowered his arms, holding the journal by two fingers. "Still it was seen, was it not? I would never try to do anything like that, those were just... thoughts."

He stood still, waiting for her answer, for any sign. He would have preferred an attack of hysteria, even if it led to a very awkward situation. This heavy silence... He felt judged.

She spoke. Her voice was low, but firm. "Why would you never try to act upon what you obviously desire so intensely? I have seen the whole journal. There are no drawings of other women. Is a daughter of men to low to taint yourself with?"

Surprise froze Maedhros. Of all the possible accusations this was the last he expected. He replied hesitantly, "No."

The disbelief transpired in every syllable of her words. "I have seen how you regard us, as if we are but savages, little more than Orcs. We do not have your fine clothing and weaponry, but there are other values..."

Maedhros interrupted her. "No, I have never seen you like that and if anyone would be tainted from this," he reached out the journal, "it would be you."

Taken aback by the honesty in his voice, Haleth frowned. "Why?"

Maedhros turned his eyes to the plain. "I have done things... The ink drawings you saw... I did that to my own kin. And there is more to come, I know it." He drew away from her, unable to bear her regard upon his shame and regret and helplessness.

"But you want it." He could feel Haleth drawing closer to him. What a strange woman. She should be offended, afraid of him, angry but there she was questioning him in that most disconcerting way.

"But I should not." Maedhros's breath caught as she embraced him. He felt her small body moulding to his, her breasts pressed against his back, his buttocks fitting the concavity of her hips. She was nuzzling his wet hair. Though tall for a woman of the Haladin, she did not quite reach his shoulders. Involuntarily, his hand rushed to hers, covering them, stopping the exploring of his body.

"You cannot possibly want this," he said, using his last strength.

"I can," she answered softly.

"I cannot marry you or father your children." He closed his eyes, reassuring himself that he would never break the vow he had made to himself. She would not understand, he knew.

She held him tighter when he expected to be let go. He felt a faint chuckle against his back. "Oh, you think you have all figured out, do you not? That I want to change my destiny and maybe even my people's by marrying you?" she asked, notes of laughter mingling with the words.

"I am not sure what you want from me," he said, reminding himself of the fierce independence she had so often shown.

Haleth freed her hands from his and held him tighter. "I want the same as you do," she said, kissing his shoulder blade over the wet shirt. Her hands were now roaming over his chest, deftly peeling his clothing. He felt the slightest tinge of embarrassment when she touched his erection, but her warm, eager hand erased that feeling, replacing it with pride and joy.

He turned to face her and helped her unclothe too. Making love in the open air was not safe or wise but they were lost to the moment. They lay on the grass in complete abandonment feeding of each other's repressed desired, exploring every inch of skin, kissing desperately. Once was not enough, nor was twice or thrice. His thirst for her would not be quenched so easily nor would hers for him, but the setting sun told them it was time to return.

As they slowly dressed, she pecked him on the corner of his lips. "See, that was not that terrifying, was it?" she asked teasingly.

He stepped back to look at her, stunned by her remark. "Why? Do you think I was afraid? Of you?"

She dropped her smile. "No, not of me specifically, although you did put up a fierce fight against this. But you keep everyone at bay, always, even your brother. And you will try to keep me from coming too close too."

Maedhros winced. She had hit her mark there. He was starting to regret this whole affair already.

Seeing his discomfort, she held him once more. "Do not worry, I am not after a piece of your heart," she said rubbing her face over his chest. Against his better judgement he held her too.

He let her return first to the camp. There was a tacit agreement that their affair should remain unspoken. He returned mulling over her words. He had tried. After his rescue from Thangorodrim, Fingon had been by his side night and day, devoted as ever, but his eyes running from his always. He was never sure it was the guilt Fingon constantly expressed for his clumsy rescue or if he still resented him for not having sailed back for them.

Later, when the wound had closed and his arm no longer hurt so badly, they had lain together as of old. Fingon had been kind and passionate, but it felt more like a staged act than a moment of love or desire. He had cursed himself for letting this happen in his own room. There was nowhere for him to go, and he could not throw Fingon out, not without a fuss and many explanations and vows of a love that obviously was not there anymore.

I was not the hand, of course. Blaming on its absence would have been unjust for both of them. The absence that really hurt was their love. Maedhros wondered why Fingon had rescued him at all and now insisted in staying by his side, being so much more overt about the nature of their relationship than ever before. But that was Fingon, always refusing to see the truth even if it slapped him in the face.

And after that there had been no others. But in good truth, he had to admit that even before that there had always been some excuse for him to avoid intimacy. In Valinor there was no shortage of eager maidens or anxious relatives lulling him to marriage. He had fallen for some but had kept their involvement shallow refusing to bind for being too young even when all his friends had already married. As the years went by, he thought he had finally found a deeper love with Fingon, but then he could not come forth and tell the world that he loved his cousin. Once more, he had found a convenient excuse to keep his distance.

The thoughts vanished as images of naked Haleth under him, above him, by his side flooded his mind. The concretization of his desires had been more and less than what he had expected. He remembered how each time he had fallen in love it had seemed to be bigger and better than any before, but still, this was what he felt, that no one compared to her. He wanted more, so much more.

Skirting the camp to avoid meeting others, he headed directly to his tent, knowing that his silly, denouncing grin would not subside any time soon. Only then he realized that she had taken the journal with her. It did not matter; she had been right - it belonged to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Maedhros sat in his bunk, head in his hands, smile in his lips, but at last he made an effort to compose his features and went to dine with his brother and a few of their men. The conversation dragged and his mind flew to the copse too often, so he chose to remain silent, submerged in his thoughts, his body relaxed in the chair. His brother's voice roused him from his reverie.

"You seem quite absent today, Nelyo," Caranthir offered neutrally. "Are you worrying about your people in Himring?"

Maedhros felt a rush of guilt. They could have not been further away from his mind. Feeling like a hypocrite, he replied, "Well, I have been absent for a while..."

Caranthir laughed. "Stop playing mother hen, brother and enjoy this fine life we have here."

Maedhros smiled tensely, forcing himself to ignore the condescending tone of his brother.

"Ah, I heard all about the heroic deeds of this afternoon," Caranthir said. The men started commenting and applauding, but when the chatter slowed, Caranthir added, "And I also heard something else, but I immediately dismissed it as idle gossip. They say that my stolid, cold brother has taken an interest in a woman of the Edain, in their leader, Haleth, to be more specific."

Maedhros was very sure that despite the light tone, his brother was probing him and simultaneously casting a clear warning. "It seems to me that the people here have a little too much free time in their hands." He answered, refusing to lie, but not willing to share his intimate life with his brother and half the camp.

Thankfully his men made a concerted effort to turn the course of the conversation and the meal was finished peacefully. However, he knew trouble was ahead. It was merely a matter of time.

After dinner Maedhros returned to his tent. His journal was open upon the bed. He smiled at Haleth's subtle reminder and perhaps invitation. He stripped, dropped into the bed and for the first time in months he slept peacefully.

The next day kept to the routine that had settled on camp, but Maedhros felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. There was no more awkwardness, no more need for avoidance or secret fantasies. He tried not to give himself away, but at every chance he let his hand brush hers, his eyes search her smile in secret understanding and communion.

They had not made any arrangements, but he was sure that she would seek him in the copse. He was not disappointed. When he reached it, she was already there, awaiting him in the same spot as before.

"I missed you," he said, feeling ridiculous like any pathetic elfling in his first love.

They fell into each other. Once more she made him think of the sea. He felt like a wave clashing onto her shores.

"I cannot stay, at least not as long as yesterday," she said to his chest.

He held her tighter. "I know."

He leaned to kiss her softly on the lips. He could not recall feeling such overwhelming piercing tenderness.

"My sister-in-law awaits me, I really must go," she said when the kiss broke.

"When can I see you again?" he asked.

"Tonight. Can I visit you in your tent?"

"Of course," he replied, holding her tighter his arms.

He felt as if he had to wait forever as the afternoon unfolded in cruel slowness, the dinner dragged through the evening and then, in his tent, time stopped completely, as if she would not arrive. It was indeed very late in the night when he felt a discreet rustle and then she was by his side in the dark, touching him, kissing him hungrily, returning time to its normal course.

"I thought you would not come," he whispered between kisses.

"I had to wait for everyone to be asleep," she replied softly in his ear. She stood and took her gown over her head and then simply lay over him, letting their bodies mould together.

Later, the lay in the dark, holding on to each other. Maedhros wanted to talk but he feared they would be heard, although his tent was separate from the others.

In the end his sharp interest in everything about her gained. He whispered in her ear, "How do you manage, Haleth? How can you keep whole and smile and laugh and do everything you do after such loss?"

She nuzzled his neck and held tighter in the tiny bed. "I make an effort, every day. If I let myself dwell on all we lost I will never do a thing again. And I must not let others fall into the temptation of self-indulgence. Our lives depend on it. We do not have the time you do to morn."

"And why me? Why would you want a maimed man?" he asked, showing his wrist, "and one that cannot give you what you need."

She held his wrist and pulled it closer to her breast. "What I want from you is one last memory, something to keep me warm in the long winter to come. And this," she said, caressing the scarred skin with her thumb, "does not matter, not at all."

He sighed. His strong, brave, little woman would never take the time to whine and moan. Her life was too short for that and she was too wise to indulge. But she had been wrong, he wanted her close, he would never push her away. He kissed her again. "Do fear the consequences if we were to be discovered?"

"No. It would not be very convenient, but it would not be the end of the world. My people know I will not leave them, not until my nephew is all grown, and not even after that." Haleth was pensive but firm; it was clear she had given this matter some thought before.

"You are full of questions," she said in a cheerier tone. "It is my turn now, you know."

"What do you want to know," Maedhros asked warily, a faint worry that she would bring up the battle scenes in the journal sliding in.

"There is something I have been meaning to ask you or your brother for sometime now. How many names do you have after all? I have heard him call you Nelyo several times and sometimes Maitimo too. And you always call him Moryo."

Maedhros smiled in relief. "Oh, we have plenty of names. Nelyo is a short version of Nelyafinwë, which means Finwë, the Third. Finwë was my grandsire. Maitimo is what my mother used to call me. They also call me Russandol, which means copper top, because of my hair."

"And what does Maitimo mean? You skipped that one," she accused with a smile.

Maedhros felt the familiar unease of the past. "It was just an affectionate name my mother called me."

"Are you avoiding the question?" she asked.

Maedhros cursed himself for having picked her of all women. "It means well-shaped one," he said dryly, hoping the subject would be dropped.

"Your mother was right, then," she said, straddling him. "Then Maitimo I shall call you. Well, in private, that is," she added with a wink before leaning in to kiss him.

"I have to go now," she added with regret.

"Yes, I know."

From that night on their lives blurred into continuous expectation for the nights and the precious stolen moments in the thicket. They would make love and talk, discovering more and more of each other though it seemed to never suffice. There were never enough funny childhood stories, no scar that should go unexplained, no person of their acquaintance should remain unknown to the other.

"There is so much about you I need to learn," Maedhros had said pleadingly on their second night.

"So ask away," Haleth complied, with a smile.

"Will my curiosity offend you?" he inquired carefully.

"Maybe..." she replied with a smile and a peck.

"My brother keeps commending the high morals of your people, including that which relates to love and marriage but you were... I mean you were not, I was not..."

"You were not the first man I have lain with. Is that what you want to know?" Haleth's bluntness was an unfaltering source of surprise to Maedhros.

He nodded. "But only if you want to tell me."

She hid her face on the crook of this neck. After a few moments she replied, "I was once in love with a man, when I was a girl. We were to be married. According to our customs we should have waited for the wedding but many are hasty." She lifted her head and smiled. "My nephew was born seven moths after my brother's wedding," she added with a wink.

Maedhros smiled at her in the faint light. "What happened to him?"

"A brawl with some Orcs while we crossed the mountains. He was with another boy scouting and when we found them it was too late. After that I insisted that my brother would teach me a few things, at least the most basic skills in fighting."

"I am sorry," Maedhros said with sincerity, despite the tang of jealousy in his heart.

They stayed silent in each other's arms waiting for dawn and another day of hidden love, but from then on there was nothing that should be kept from the other.

Time passed in this way until it was full summer. Maedhros had run out of excuses not to return home, but his men did not even bother asking. Caranthir despite his previous hospitality now probed him, made veiled insinuations. He knew Haleth's sister-in-law was making similar questions. Still, every night extended its sheets of darkness to hide their love and there they found a haven.

"When are you returning home?" Haleth asked one night.

They had always avoided the future and Maedhros answered reluctantly. "I do not know yet. I do not want to return, in truth. I want to stay here with you. Why do you ask?"

"Your men were speaking of it this afternoon."

"You could come with me..." Maedhros said before he could stop himself.

Haleth sat on the bed, tense, her back turned to Maedhros.

"Why can you not make things simple?" he asked. "You could just move up North. If you do not want to stay in my brother's lands you could stay on mine. No one would interfere with your people or your ruling, I promise. And we could be together," he added, leaning over her for a kiss.

She pushed him away, slowly. "How would that be, explain me," she asked softly. "I am not a young girl anymore. Maitimo, I am thirty-two years old. I do not have many years of beauty ahead, and I will die one day. Maitimo, I will die. There will be no happily ever after for us."

"And if you will not consider yourself, how you will be tied to an ageing woman, to a mortal, consider my people. After all the sacrifices they have made to be free would they gladly live under an elven lord to please me?"

Without waiting for an answer, she proceeded, "Do you remember why we were here in the first place? We never wanted to live in another's lands. We need our own space and my people will not settle for less. For how long would your people tolerate us, when would we start to pay taxes, obey your rules and when I die who will bind you to your word? I trust you, but how can I ask my people to take this leap of faith?"

"I would never interfere in your business," Maedhros insisted but they both knew he was defeated from the start.

"No. But that is not the issue. I owe them more than that. And I owe it to my father's memory and to my brother's and to his children too."

"You have your mind set, then?" he asked, hopelessness ringing in every word.

"We always knew it would come to this. Please." She sunk back in the bed, bringing him with her. "Let us enjoy what time we have left. Please."

He kissed her, willing the sadness away. They did not mention their parting again.

A few days later news came. Haleth had sent a messenger asking Finrod for counsel and he had interceded for the Haladin with Thingol and Melian. They had been granted some land and the Crossing of Teiglinto guard and decided to leave as soon as everything was packed.

Maedhros was surprised to learn that Caranthir had known of this all along and hurt that Haleth had not confided in him. He understood that it had been her way of sheltering them sadness. He watched her leaving and followed with his men a day later, keeping from her sight but making sure they were safe at least in this first part of the way. It was a hard decision to finally turn up North, but he knew he had to. That day he felt like something inside had died, but soon happy memories of what he had come to regard as the closest thing to perfection eased the pain. Haleth had given him the same she had asked for herself: something to keep him warm in the long winter to come.

_Finis  
May 2005_

_Revised September 2005_  
_Posted April 2006_  
_Still unhappy about it._


End file.
